


I'm not in control

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Light Bondage, Safewords, Sherlock is a control freak, and Molly's had enough of that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been hiding out at Molly's for a few weeks now and although their relationship has moved to the next level, Molly's sick of everything going Sherlock's way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not in control

**Author's Note:**

> This story began life as a gift to a friend. But it turned out too good to leave in her bottom drawer, so she's kindly agreed to share it.
> 
> I don't, and never will, own anything BBC Sherlock related. But I appreciate them letting me play with them.
> 
> I do not give my permission for any of my work to be used without my express permission in whole or part.

Sherlock's been holed up at your apartment for nearly six weeks and it's hard to know who's being driven more crazy by his incarceration. Mycroft.. _Bless him_..has decided that Sherlock should 'lay low' for two months before he begins his search for Moriarty's network. You're not sure both of you will survive.

You know it had been a mistake, sleeping with him. But a bored Sherlock is a Sherlock who makes rash decisions and one night, after too much alcohol and far too much TV he'd made the offer and you'd accepted... _Far too quickly_...What followed was...well...it was great, but Sherlock knew he had the upper hand and all too quickly the smug superiority that he displayed in every other facet of his life had bled over into the bedroom. The trouble was....Molly Hooper in the bedroom didn't particularly enjoy being submissive, at least not all the time.

But it isn't all bad, the new situation means you're far more comfortable in each other's space and you're currently tucked up on the couch, him re-reading old case files looking, yet again, for new clues while you work on the Times crossword.

Although clearly deep in thought, he still finds it impossible not to glance at what you're doing, "Generally" he mutters.

"Hmmm?"

"Nine letter word for most often......Generally...17 across."

"Oh..Thanks"

You continue on for several minutes.

"Roughly"

You suppress a smile, "Say something?"

"6 Down...Raggedly.....7 letters...roughly."

"You can't help yourself can you?"

He looks chastised, "Sorry..I'll stop."

"No. It's fine..In fact, it's adorable."

"I am NOT adorable."

"Oh, I think you'll find, sitting there wrapped in my bed-sheet, with your hair ruffled...that you are."

He looks somewhat horrified, "No...I think you'll find that I'm a high functioning sociopath or ....something..but I'm not....adorable."

You roll in his arms bringing your faces close together, "You're right, you're not adorable...what you are....is a control freak."

He looks offended, "I can relinquish control, when needed."

"You can't." After six weeks, you've gotten rather good at manipulating Sherlock, and if you're going to get your way, this is the way to do it. "Even when it's in your own interest, you can't let go."

"Yes, I can. I'll prove it...test me."

You have him now. You've presented a challenge, a competition to be won and he's accepted it. Now it's your turn to play.

You lean in and kiss him, slow and sensuously. Where Sherlock's style of sex is efficient and, to be fair, very effective, you intended to take this slow...very slow indeed. You lift your head and whisper, "You'll need a safeword."

He gasps a little and mutters "Albatross".

"Albatross." You repeat back to him, "Remember it, love. It's my turn now."

You tug at the cord tying your robe together and although he may have thought you'd only intended to shed the fabric, his eyes widen when you use the satin cord to bind his hands together, before tucking them behind his head, "Leave them there, OK?"

Another nod, and you can already feel him stirring beneath you.

You tug at the edges of the sheet he's wrapped in, peppering his skin in tiny kisses and taking your time, seeking out every inch you can reach. He hisses as you lick around the shell of his ear, before sucking in his earlobe and gently nibbling it. There's a little moan and you feel him strain his arms before forcing himself to relax into his bonds again.

You continue your assault down his neck, tasting the vague saltiness of sweat at his collarbones. These days, he smells more like your shampoo you wonder idly if he'll ever quite smell like the Sherlock you remember again.

Tugging the sheet further apart, you spend an inordinate amount of time exploring his nipples. Entranced with the way they pebble between your fingertips, and how he shivers as you suckle on each in turn.

You know the slowness of your progress is having the desired effect. Sherlock is mumbling almost constantly and although you can't catch most of the words _Christ_ , and _now_ , and _more_ , and _Molly_ keep repeating with pleasing regularity.

You continue kissing down his sternum, finding a surprisingly erogenous zone just where it dips and his abs begin. So you slow down and play there for a while, delighting in the whimpers and growls the actions provoke together with the reflexive bucking of his hips.

While amusing yourself and tormenting him, you stroke fingertips along the gentle ridges defining his stomach. Nobody would ever describe Sherlock Holmes as 'buff', but his lack of body-fat and constant running around London has leant him a lean, wiry strength and the legacy is still imprinted under your fingers.

You feel gentle fingers in your hair... _time to check-in_...you look up, and his face is taught with suppressed desire. There's a flush on his cheeks and his eyes are heavy lidded.

You look to him with a question, "OK?"

He nods between ragged breaths, "Molly Hooper, you...are...amazing. Evil...and a little bit sadistic..but don't stop. God, please don't stop."

"Then you'd better put those hands back, I didn't say you could move them. No touching."

He looks down at his hands, still tied together where they rest on your head. He seems momentarily confounded as to how they got there before sighing and moving them back behind his head again. "Very well...do as you will."

You chuckle and resume your glacial progress, this time moving down to his hips and tracing the neat V toward his groin. Each time, you stop well before you might be tempted to just 'have-at-it' and instead move to the other side, briefly stopping to nuzzle at his belly-button on the way.

There's a fair amount of swearing going on at the other end of the couch now and since you've moved the sheet away, there is a frustrated bobbing amongst his pubic hair that's keeping time with your movements. You decide it's time to move to phase two of your plan to reduce the only consulting detective in the world to a quivering pile of ecstasy.

You slide further down between his legs, and look up to see him watching your every move. The feeling of power is exquisite, and seeing him so lost with desire for you and yet quiescent under your hands is a heady thing indeed, "Now here's what we're going to do. We're going to play a game. If you're clever...and I know you are..you'll work out the rules and you get a reward. If not....well, no reward."

You huff a warm breath, strong enough to move the hairs directly below your mouth and there's another involuntary twitch as his cock flexes toward you. You smile and give it a little kiss on the tip. "See, it knows what it wants, clever boy."

You settle a hand on either hip, gently steadying him. You haven't done this for a while and you know your gag reflex is a bit iffy. Time to get to work.

You lean in and lick a long stripe up the underside from root to tip and the response is immediate and quite violent. You can feel his thigh muscles clench under your hands on his hips as he tries to arch up and you lift your head higher and away.

"Ah, ah, ahhh.." you say scoldingly, "Not allowed to help. Arse back on the couch please or there'll be no more."

There's a bitter laugh, rough from panted breaths, "Molly. You can't expect me to just...."

"Oh but I do. I expect you to just lay there. The only control you have is over yourself...and I expect you to exert that control, or you can safe-word right now and admit defeat"

"Never." He manages through gritted teeth, "I'll stay still."

You giggle and settle back down, this time nosing gently amongst the dark curls that nestle around his cock, consciously avoiding the action he obviously wants you to take. His smell is stronger here, but not unpleasant. Less like the vanilla and raspberry of your bathroom and more of the cigarettes and leather that you remember from the Baker Street. Perhaps you've solved the mystery of what he smells like after all.

You continue nuzzling, occasionally tilting your head to place feather-light teasing kisses along his length, never reaching the crown, never granting him enough pressure to rut against. You've decided to continue this until....

"Oh God...Molly... _Pleeeassee_."

That's what you were waiting for, a bit of old fashioned begging. You reward him immediately by taking the crown in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the top and then sinking down on him, watching for signs of him bucking up against you again...if it's going to happen again, it'll be now.

But he's gotten the idea... _clever indeed_...he stays stoically planted on the couch, although his knees have flexed bringing his feet up and onto the couch. You let him have that small solace.

You take a hand from his hip and wrap it around his base, he's too long for you to take in entirety and you're not brave enough to try. Instead, you steady him with your hand and take your time working out what he likes. Firm or soft, slow or fast. You reach a thumb to tease at his frenulum and there's more swearing from above you, so that's repeated. Over and over again, you push him and then slow the pace, in complete control of his pleasure.

You move your other hand to gently fondle his balls and that elicits neither groans nor a flinch so you leave them alone, instead concentrating on what you're doing with your mouth and hand and moving your free hand to splay on his lower abdomen. It's taught and rigid under your fingers and you take that as a sign that he's starting to struggle to hold himself back from climax in spite of your efforts to keep him on the edge.

You ease off him with a wet pop, adding a little lick at the tip because...well because you can..and look up. His head is thrown back and his mouth hangs open. He's panting for breath, but lifts his head when you stop, the look of open desperation is one you'll remember forever.

"You've been so good...so very good. I'm proud of you. You've learned all your lessons so I'm going to reward you now..Do you want that?"

He nods a little brokenly, his eyes shut and lips tight.

You turn your eyes back down and as you lower your head, you see him drop his own to the arm of the couch, unable to sustain the effort to keep watching. You know what he wants now, how much pressure, how long the strokes, when to suck and when to relax and with a final swirl of your tongue he's coming down your throat and you're glad you still have a hand on his hip because he's gone rigid below you as he shudders and cries out and then convulses again as you swallow around him, taking it all, letting him ride out the pleasure as you gently smooth your tongue up his length and let him slip from your lips.

You're breathing almost as hard as he is and his hands are magically back in your hair although you don't know when that happened. You crawl up his body and he twitches as you brush his over-sensitive member but wraps his still bound arms around you as you settle on his chest.

He's peppering the top of your head with kisses and you both regain your breath. As you laze in the afterglow of the adrenaline, drifting on the edge of sleep you hear his deep voice utter words you never imagined hearing, "Molly, you can tell me what to do any time you like."


End file.
